Welcome Distraction
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Sherlock has trouble focusing whilst dismantling Moriarty's web.


**A/N: Another story that had been languishing in my files, this one started out as the beginning to "Make You Happy" but I changed my mind about how I wanted it to go. The title came from the song, which came later. It's set after series 2 and, once again, this was written before series 3 so there's no mention of Tom. Thanks again to beautywithin22 for checking it over. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Welcome Distraction**_

…  
_And I don't know  
Where I lost control  
And couldn't take it any longer  
Must have been somewhere between  
Your smile and the way you say my name  
I can't win so I give in  
The more I fight it just gets stronger  
You're an inconvenient kind of satisfaction  
Welcome distraction__  
_\- 'Welcome Distraction,' Taylor Swift  
…

He saw her again.

This time he acted on instinct and ran after her, grabbing her by the arm as he came level.

"Molly-" he broke off immediately as he realised his mistake and found himself looking into the startled eyes of a stranger. "I'm sorry," he murmured, dropping her arm like it burned and stepping back, "I thought…sorry," he mumbled before turning abruptly on his heel and stalking away.

He silently berated himself for his stupidity as he stalked back the way he had come, his thunderous expression causing others to give him a wide berth.

It had been five months, three weeks, two days and six hours (not that he was counting) since he had last seen Molly but in that time he had 'seen' her over a hundred times.

Although a second glance had usually confirmed that it wasn't her at all, just his mind – which usually obeyed his every command – playing tricks on him.

He didn't like it.

He needed to be focused and in control, it was _not_ the time for his mind to decide not to co-operate.

It hadn't taken him long to realise that the only way he would get his mind to stop rebelling in this ridiculous manner was to take a break and see her. But that would mean giving in to sentiment and admitting that he _needed_ to see her.

And once he did that he wasn't convinced he would be able to stay away: she would become his weakness and he couldn't deal with that right now.

Maybe not ever.

Unfortunately, she had also started invading his dreams; he'd then stopped sleeping, only to find that the problem worsened – hence his chasing a complete stranger down the street.

He clenched his jaw as he gave into the inevitable: he would have to see her, but he wouldn't do anything stupid. Just a _glimpse_ of the real Molly should be enough to get his rebellious mind back under control.

But he had underestimated his mind and overestimated his self-control.

A glimpse of Molly wasn't enough and he'd found himself following her over the next couple of days.

Then he'd broken into her flat when she was out; finding comfort in the sense of her lingering presence and the discovery of his coat and scarf, cleaned and neatly folded, waiting for his return.

It was this discovery that was ultimately responsible for him sitting down in the only armchair in her small living room, waiting for her to return.

She jumped about three feet in the air when she returned and found him in her flat. "Sherlock?" she breathed, clutching a hand to her chest. "You're-are you back? To stay?" she asked, dropping her hand to her side, but still visibly flustered as she unconsciously drifted a couple of steps towards him.

"No," he said flatly

"Oh," she bit her lip, waiting for him to continue.

He cleared his throat, searching for the right words and trying to ignore the way she was studying him.

"What do you need?" she asked finally.

He looked up in surprise at the question; her tone and expression were the same from the night he had come to her for help.

Likewise, his answer hadn't changed, "You," he said simply.

She blinked, "Me?"

He drummed his fingers on the armrests, avoiding her gaze, "Sentiment," he said dismissively, "you're the only one who knows I'm still alive," he continued, as his knees started to bounce in time with his drumming fingers. "Obviously I would think about you, but the problem is I can't seem to _stop_," he hissed, shooting her an accusing look as he got to his feet, unable to contain his agitation. "You're everywhere," he continued, gesturing wildly as he paced the room, "you even _invaded_ my dreams, my mind is no longer my own and I need to focus, Molly." He ran a hand through his hair, "I need to focus on what I'm doing, not…"

She stepped into his path and he recoiled slightly in surprise, before stepping into her personal space. "Not on you," he finished, towering over her.

"Sherlock," she said calmly, holding his gaze, "why are you here?"

"Sentiment," he muttered, his bitter tone belied by the way his eyes were trailing over her face, memorising each detail.

When he realised what he was doing he closed his eyes and took a step back, "I'm becoming weak, Molly," he confessed, looking back at her with a haunted expression.

Molly resisted the urge to reach out to him, "You're not weak, Sherlock," she told him firmly.

"I need to stay focused, why can't I focus?" he muttered as though he hadn't heard her, sinking back into the chair and burying his face in his hands.

"You need to let it go," Molly said softly.

Sherlock's head snapped up and he stared at her.

"You need to stop fighting it and just…let it go," she repeated, "you know you can," she added, ignoring the tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Sherlock stood up slowly and moved towards her, this time stopping just outside of her personal space. "You want me to delete it?" he clarified.

"If that's what it takes," she told him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "delete everything about me if you have to. You said it yourself, you need to focus. This is too important."

"Molly-"

"You _know_ you can do it, Sherlock," she repeated, cutting him off.

"_Molly_," he began again, his tone brooking no interruptions, "I _can't._"

Molly stared at him in confusion, "But-"

"You're right," he told her, cutting her off as he invaded her personal space again, "fighting it has been the problem, but deleting it isn't the solution."

"It's not?"

"No," he said firmly. "I haven't been able to delete a thing about you since the day I met you," he confessed, "it seems a little late to start now."

"So what will you do?" she asked softly after a long moment.

"Let it go."

She nodded, dropping her gaze, "Ok, good."

"Until I get back," he added. He smirked at her surprised expression, "I trust you will still be here?"

"Always," she whispered, still a little in shock.

"Good," he murmured and stepped around her, heading towards the door.

"Wait, how does that solve the problem?" she asked, whirling around to watch him go.

Sherlock stopped at the door, "I won't be fighting it anymore, I have my answer now," he shrugged, "I don't want to let you go."

Molly blinked in surprise.

"You'll probably still be a distraction," he added with a smirk, "but one I can live with."

Molly didn't know what to say and she started a little in surprise as he winked at her before disappearing.


End file.
